First Time
by WAW
Summary: A short tale of one kid's attempts to become the newest Rudie of Tokyo-to.


THE FIRST TIME  
  
Tonight is Peter Incho's first night as a Tokyo-to Rudie. He had dreamt this moment many a time in his head: Skating through the city streets, marking his turf with masterpieces of art and evading the cops while tagging their backs with exceptional skill, making them look like incompetent trainees. Peter was always a dreamer with big plans, for a long time now he had planned to get into the turf wars against the current gangs and carve out a reputation of his own. He viewed himself as a figure to be respect and feared by the other rudies while making his mark for the whole city to see.  
  
The planning and preparation for this moment was long and hard. Peter had spent two month's worth of nights practising his painting skills with a spray can. Even after all that, they weren't exactly "masterpieces," but he shrugged off that line of thought, believing that he'll do better when he gets out there and gets the experience. He had spent almost a quarter of a year working on his skating skills. He downloaded some DIY instructions and ordered kits off the Internet that he in turn used to make his own motor-driven inline skates like those the rudies use. He had been trying his luck skating, grinding and wall riding. His success rate was poor, but again he hoped experience would help him survive. He spent one month and over a hundred bucks on a Rudie outfit. He carefully picked out a custom top, combining colours of black, white and various greys. It was similar to a camouflage top; only the pattern design would realistically be better on a Hawaiian shirt. On top of this he had a black leather jacket with the arms cut off and worn open to show the shirt underneath. He also got a pair of dark blue jeans with bright yellow patches sewed on in an ad hoc manner. The skates that he had made originally started off as a pair of old glittery white platform shoes that his dad threw out a few years' back but Peter saved from the dump truck. He finalised his outfit with a huge brunette Afro wig and red tinted sunglasses. To him, he looked like a unique combination of all that's deemed "cool." To everyone else, he looked like the perverted love child of 1970s culture and the biker from that band that sings "YMCA." Finally, he spent nearly two months dreaming up a Rudie name, a title in which he would be referred to as. Peter himself finally took the name "Streets" for himself. The main reason why was that he versioned himself as the ruler of the streets in this city, his tags found everywhere, his opposing gangs defeated and the cops unable to catch him. In his own way, he'd be the ruler of Tokyo-to.  
  
And he'd rule them alone. He did try to get a few of his friends to join him before and form a gang, but they all refused, saying that he was crazy to get involved in the turf wars. Peter then decided then that he'd do it all by himself. That way, his reputation would be even greater than if he was in a gang. He knew that he'd get many followers who would want to join him, and he would as long as they knew that he was the man, that he was the boss and what he says goes.  
  
But even he knew that he would have to earn all that he wants, and it starts tonight.  
  
It was the first time that he was out in public in his full outfit, skating along the street in Shibuya-cho. The streetlights were on and the night sky was dark, but there were many a Joe Public still out, most of them ready for a night on the town. Streets couldn't help but feel nervous as he skated by, most people either giving him strange looks or giggling at him as he rode by. He even nearly crapped himself as he ran out of sight after noticing a policeman who was also laughing at him while sitting on his motorcycle, eating a doughnut and sipping coffee from his thermos flask.  
  
He kept going until he reached a dark corner of a forgotten street near one of the bus terminals. He noticed a huge GG tag on the wall and like a moth to a flame he quickly darted towards it with his spray can out and ready to paint. The tag itself was an intricate design of big bold letters zigzagging across each other around an image of a music DJ with a vinyl record in his hand. Streets couldn't help but be impressed with the quality of the image, it must have taken them a long time and a lot of spray cans to paint it. He felt guilty at first when he began to paint on top of the image, but he shook it off when he reminded himself of what was at stake. He was declaring war on the GGs and the other gangs; he was going to make his dreams a reality.  
  
He cursed at himself as he made his thirteenth mistake, he was realising just how difficult it was to use the spray cans in a real-life situation, especially with the risk of the police appearing at any moment. The heavily strict laws regarding graffiti meant that he would be arrested on the spot if he were caught in the act. The image that he was attempting began as a landscape image with his face on the side. It then turned into a raging thunderstorm, and then finally into a single word "Streets," and even the way it was drawn wasn't impressive. He wouldn't personally admit it, but his artistic abilities weren't as impressive as the imagery that he had in his daydreams.  
  
He had spent over half an hour and nearly two-dozen mistakes working on his realistically simplistic tag. It wasn't too bad, especially for a first- timer, but he felt disappointed with himself as he took a step back to see his almost finished piece. He just needed one blast of colour in the corner of the last letter.... "Hey, you!" Peter was close to soiling himself even before he turned his head to see who it was, assuming the worst. And he assumed right. He was looking at the familiar outfit of a Tokyo-to police officer, and he sure wasn't here to comment on the art. Before he even let another thought enter his mind, Peter was on his feet and running as if it was for his very life. The police officer quickly gave chase, muttering words into his radio. Peter knew that in little time one chasing cop would become a dozen chasing cops, all after him and no one else.  
  
Thanks to his skates, the cop quickly disappeared out of sight behind him, but Streets knew that he hasn't given up on catching him. Streets was now skating through the bus terminal, darting in between the buses, some were closed up for the night, others were awaiting their late night shifts. Streets decided that he needed an extra burst of speed to get out of the terminal, and decided to try and grind some of the handrails to get it. Hopefully, this would also make it a bit harder to catch him too. So he slowed down a fraction and jumped, quickly tried to shift the position of his skates so they would grind along the rail, and then he landed. He wobbled and shook, but he just managed to keep balance. He continued sliding across the rail until he noticed that there was a gap in the rail. Smiling, Streets couldn't resist trying his luck on a trick. So he readied himself as best he could and just as he reached the gap, he jumped. He stretched his legs as far as he could, spinning in the air. He saw a GG rudie pull off this trick once; he remembered the trick being called a flying kite... Streets landed on the rail, but he was still in the middle of his trick. The rail came into contact with his crotch mercilessly, and given the momentum he continued to slide across for a short distance before his body lost balance and fell off onto the pavement. Streets was in sheer agony. He had seen a similar thing happen to someone on a home video show on the TV, but he had never comprehended just how painful it was until now. He rolled around on the pavement, his hands on his crotch. He wanted to scream, but no sounds left his open mouth. He had no idea exactly how long he was lying there for, but as the pain began to slowly subside, he could hear the sound of thumping boots close by. He turned to see around seven or eight police uniforms running towards him. They had seen him lying there. Summoning his strength and biting his lip to distract him from the pain, he got up and began skating off again, cursing his bad luck.  
  
The chase continued. Streets skated as quickly as he could to try to shake off the police, but they had done these chases many times before. They knew the best routes to follow in order to catch their fugitive as fast as possible. They were running through the district and were now entering Park Street. Streets knew that there were various areas to get lost in here, if he could only shake them off for the moment... He turned his head to look back. The police officers were slowing down, widening the gap between them. Streets smiled, they were giving up. He quickly turned and ran up a set of stairs and dashed towards the play park, running by a series of GG tags that appeared to have been freshly drawn. This worried Streets, was he about to run into the gang that owned this territory? He slowed down to a stop and began looking around for any activity. The street itself was rather quiet, there weren't any people about and the traffic was minimal. He could hear the motors of the odd passing car, the sound of music blasting out of a nearby window and then suddenly a large bang. Streets suddenly felt a very sharp pain on the side of his head, and then he blacked out.  
  
Streets opened his eyes. He found that he had collapsed on the ground in a heap. Looking up he saw eight faces looking down at him, all wearing police uniforms. They were smiling, pleased with their catch. Streets raised a hand to touch the side of his now throbbing head, and pulled it back to see a small trickle of blood dripping down his finger. He looked up again to examine the faces, noticing that one of the cops was the one that was laughing at him earlier in the night while on a motorcycle. He groaned at realising this, but then noticed the faces moving to make a gap for another to enter. The new head wasn't a high up as the others, nor did it wear a uniform. It sported a dirty raincoat, jet black, unkempt hair; and a five o'clock shadow. Streets groaned again. He recognised the face of Captain Onishima. He then realised that the captain had put his handgun to use and had fired at him, grazing the side of his head. That's what the bang was and why he was knocked out. Onishima kneeled down to bring his face closer to Streets. "Well, well," he grinned. "What do we have here...?"  
  
Tonight was Peter Incho's first night as a Tokyo-to Rudie. And there's little doubt that it is also his last. 


End file.
